


Jimmy Dean and Chill

by jwnchstr



Category: Supernatural
Genre: M/M, Men of Letters Bunker, Netflix and Chill
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-02
Updated: 2018-11-02
Packaged: 2019-08-16 15:42:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,907
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16498361
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jwnchstr/pseuds/jwnchstr
Summary: Dean and Cas watch Netflix and Dean is acting weird.





	Jimmy Dean and Chill

**Author's Note:**

> i just always thought the show let go of dean's obsession with james dean a liiiittle bit too soon because obviously he's a huge fanboy. this is like...kinda canonverse but not really because i don't remember many details from this part of the show.

The bunker living room was dim, the only source of light being the TV screen. Dean was sitting on the couch with Cas, aimlessly browsing through Netflix to occupy his hands, acutely aware of the man beside him while pretending he wasn’t.

 

Okay, so watching TV with Cas was nothing new. Dean had done it plenty of times—Sam, Cas and him watched TV together most nights, as a matter of fact. The thing was, though, that Sam was always present. He’d sit safely between Dean and Cas each night, mostly focusing on his phone or doing research while they channel surfed from one show to the next—depending on who’s turn it was to choose. With his giant little brother between him and Cas it was easy to not enable forbidden thoughts. At least most nights. 

 

But this night, Sam had gone to bed and left Cas and Dean alone on the worn down leather couch. Cas had not yet made any effort in following the younger Winchester brother’s example. Dean didn’t feel sleepy yet, and he still had half a beer left on the coffee table. How they hadn’t found themselves in this situation before this night, Dean didn’t know, but it felt incredible right now that he had never gotten any practice on how to deal with this situation. 

 

Dean cleared his throat—it sounded forced to him but he thought, without much hope, that Cas might have been unable to pick it up. “So what do you wanna watch?” he asked. 

 

“You choose,” Cas answered with a warm smile, one of those smiles reserved only for him—he knew that much, and Dean realized why he hadn’t stayed up watching TV with Cas alone, ever. He had been avoiding it. His heart fluttered in his chest. “I’m not tired yet.” Yeah—Dean was afraid so. He swallowed as if to suffocate stupid words that threatened to come out of his mouth. 

 

“Okay. Me neither.”

 

He focused on browsing through the movies on Netflix, but Cas seemed to be sitting very close all of a sudden and Dean remembered why he had been avoiding this very situation in much more detail. He forced his attention to the screen instead of watching Cas finish his bottle, swallowing the contents slowly. Star Wars was a decent option, he thought, seeing Cas lick an escaped droplet of beer from the neck of the bottle at the corner of his eye. Star Wars could be fun, great even, a splendid choice—he frantically tried distracting himself during the second it took for Cas to catch the drop with his tongue. But they had already seen Star Wars, of course—multiple times. He kept scrolling, and one movie caught his eye. Surely Sam knew of Dean’s obsession with James Dean, but Dean would go straight back to hell before watching any of those movies with Sam around. He glanced over at Cas who had his eyes on the screen. 

 

“This is a classic,” Dean said and bravely pressed play. 

 

“I believe you,” Cas said, gaze still locked on the TV screen, now expectantly watching the opening credits. 

 

Dean uncomfortably remembered how long the intro was and instantly regretted his choice. Nothing happened on the screen for what felt like several minutes—what a splendid movie night choice. Cas smelled like soap and toothpaste. Not sleepy, he had said, yet obviously ready for bed, wearing his plaid patterned pajama bottoms and one of Dean’s old AC/DC t-shirts and all. The t-shirt was one or two sizes too big for him but it somehow fit him perfectly, despite the fabric loosely falling half-way down his shoulders instead of wrapping around his muscled arms tightly. 

 

The movie finally started. Dean could feel his cheeks heat (he doubted it was because of the alcohol, but he could always hope) and he stifled an excited smile when his favorite star finally appeared on screen, peeking over at Cas to make sure he hadn’t been looking at him. The former angel had his blue eyes fixated on the screen, and it hit Dean that Cas would never make fun of him, even if he had seen his pathetically sentimental reaction. 

 

The beer on the table suddenly called out for him. He wished he were drunker. Maybe then this whole ordeal would be easier. He swallowed the last contents of the bottle.

 

Or worse, he realized. Maybe then he wouldn’t have had the common sense to inch closer to the left edge of the couch, building a safe little wall of pillows between him and his friend, pretending he needed them to lean on. Dean made himself watch the movie.

 

The problem was, he had seen this movie many times. He knew exactly what was going to happen in the next scene. He was starting to realize that this had been a bad choice. A very, very bad choice. Zoning off and thinking of other things was far too easy. 

 

Cas adjusted in his seat to his right. Dean could smell his deodorant when he lifted his arm to get comfortable. Cas was wearing ridiculous fuzzy wool socks to keep himself warm against the cold bunker floor. 

 

Dean felt jittery and on edge. It was impossible to relax. Cas looked as chill as ever, always so content in the bunker, so relaxed in his pajama pants and borrowed t-shirt and stupid socks. Which is what made Dean reluctantly force his gaze back to the movie for the millionth time that evening. You can do it, he thought, just focus on the plot. Obviously, nothing was going to happen. 

 

But then he thought, what _if_ something happened? What exactly would be the consequences of something...happening? He bit the inside of his cheek, gaze locked on the screen, yet unaware of what was going on in the movie. 

 

Cas would be polite about it, sure. He wouldn’t make fun of him, he was sure of that—he couldn’t imagine Cas ever making fun of him. He’d ever so politely decline. Which would, of course, be worse than any alternative. Just imagining Cas rejecting him made his stomach hurt.

 

“I like the movie so far, Dean,” Cas suddenly said, startling Dean out of his forbidden thoughts. “I understand why you like it, too.”

 

“Do you now?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“It’s a classic.”

 

“I know. You said so earlier.”

 

“Right.” 

 

They didn’t say anything else for a while. In one way or another, they had ended up too close again, and somehow the pillows that had been between them were on the floor. Cas’s fuzzy socks tickled Dean’s thigh even through his jeans, but he didn’t want to move. He was sitting so comfortably. Actually, he had found just the right position to sit in. No way he’d move, he decided, proud of his perfect excuse. Cas adjusted in his seat, nudging Dean’s thigh with his other foot and placed his hand next to Dean’s—it was just a coincidence, though. Dean looked down and counted every millimeter between them. He moved his hand away, crossed his arms over his chest and cleared his throat without needing to. 

 

He wondered what Cas was thinking about. He always did, really, but right now it was more tempting than ever. It looked like he was just concentrating on the movie. Dean was thrilled that he seemed to like it but unsatisfied with not knowing for sure. 

 

It would be so easy to move closer together, the way they were sitting now—Dean with both his feet on the floor, Cas with his long legs now resting crossed on the coffee table, propped up on his arm against the armrest. Just a slight readjustment and they’d be even closer. Dean moved a bit further away to be on the safe side. A joke about personal space would be perfect right now, but somehow Dean couldn’t find it in him to make it. 

 

“Dean, are you alright?” Cas suddenly asked. He looked worried. 

 

“I’m awesome,” Dean answered, furrowing his eyebrows. “Why?”

 

“You’ve been gritting your teeth for the last twenty minutes and you seem unable to sit still.”

 

“Oh.”

 

“Is there something bothering you?”

 

“No,” Dean lied. Cas leaned closer and Dean swallowed. 

 

“Because if there is—”

 

“I said I’m fine.”

 

“Okay, Dean.” 

 

Cas moved to put both his feet on the floor and sat up straighter, moving further away from Dean either on purpose or not—either way, Dean went rigid as he felt Cas pulling away. He was all too aware of the newfound distance between them and he cursed himself for not just sitting still like a normal person. Being so close to him sure was the cause of his restlessness but the warmth he had radiated was worth it. No way he could get closer again—he couldn’t pull of a move like that casually enough for Cas not to notice. Despite himself, he thought if it were a woman next to him, the old stretch and yawn act would be cheesy and ridiculous enough to actually work. Making one’s date laugh always worked like a charm (he pretended he hadn’t just thought the word ‘date’—this wasn’t a damn date). 

 

But this was very different. Yet, the same thing. And still so different. 

 

Dean’s insecurities aside, it felt lonely at his side of the couch. 

 

“Do you want another beer?” he asked as he stood up. 

 

“Sure,” Cas answered. 

 

Dean paused the movie and went out into the kitchen, feet padding across the cold concrete floor (for a weak moment he wished he could borrow a pair of Cas’s fuzzy socks). His plan to sit back down a bit closer was solid—hopefully Cas wouldn’t notice such a big difference. 

 

This was absurd, he thought to himself as he opened the fridge and found two bottles of beer. He was acting like a schoolgirl; in fact, he was being absolutely ridiculous, he knew it. But if nothing were to happen—because it definitely wasn’t—the least he could allow himself was some body heat. The bunker _was_ very cold, he had to admit. Judging by Cas’s socks, he’d agree. 

 

Dean returned to the living room and pulled through with his plan. It was easy—he nudged Cas on the shoulder with the beer bottle to get his attention and sat down in the middle of the couch in one smooth (at least he hoped so) movement. Cas had since Dean’s departure flung his left arm over the back of the couch. He stiffly removed it and crossed both his arms over his chest once Dean had sat down. 

 

“Sorry,” he just said and adjusted in his seat a bit, slouching deeper into the couch. 

 

“No, it’s okay,” Dean said, clearing his throat for what felt like the tenth time since Sam left them in this awkward mess. 

 

The silence between them made things, if possible, even more awkward. Dean aimed for the remote so he could press play again.

 

But then Cas said, “Dean,” in that way that made Dean’s chest feel tight. 

 

“Cas,” Dean said stupidly as his heart adamantly beat faster.

 

“Is there something on your mind?”

 

Dean could’ve cursed Cas for always sensing that something was up. Bad or good, there he was, always asking that question. Most times, Dean would lie for an answer and Cas wouldn’t ask again, though Dean knew that he knew. 

 

“Nope,” Dean answered, feeling the corner of his mouth twitching stubbornly before he began drinking his beer. 

 

“I worry that I have ruined your evening,” Cas then said.

 

“What?” was all Dean could think to say to that.

 

“It is quite clear to me that you are not enjoying my company tonight.”

 

“Cas—”

 

“Perhaps we can finish the movie another day. I do like it, very much, but I do not wish to get in the way of a better evening for you.”

 

“Hey,” Dean said when Cas moved to rise from the couch, the word stopping him instantly. “I… _am_ … enjoying your company. Don’t go. I want to finish the movie now.” He uttered the words with difficulty. Cas looked everywhere but into his eyes, and then down at his hands on his lap. “Unless you’re tired,” Dean added.

 

“I’m not tired.” His lips were puckered and he fiddled with his hands.

 

“Me neither,” Dean said. “You’re not getting in the way of anything.” _Please don’t leave, Cas_ , he wanted to add, like so many times before, but bitterly swallowed the words down with another swig of his beer as usual. 

 

“If you say so, Dean,” Cas answered and leaned back, arms crossed over his chest again and feet still stable on the cold concrete floor.

 

“I do say so.” 

 

He pressed play. Movie star Dean was having a foreboding romantic moment with the female star in a field with yellow flowers. Awkward Dean on the couch with his very attractive best friend was chugging beer like his life depended on it, barely aware of the conversation between the characters. The romantic undertones of the movie made him even more uncomfortable. He wished so badly he had just chosen a Star Wars movie instead. Had Cas been just a little bit more socially aware, he would’ve started speculating about Dean’s motive for picking a romantic movie, but luckily for Dean, Cas was as clueless as ever despite being graceless and very human. As a matter of fact, he hadn’t—consciously, at least, a stubborn thought suggested—chosen a romantic movie for the sake of an amorous evening. 

 

They watched the movie in silence for a while. Dean was sweating nervously and tapping his fingers against his right thigh, the other leg bouncing up and down, wishing the Earth below him could swallow him whole. 

 

Cas put his hand on top of Dean’s, stopping all his anxious tics with a purposeful look. Dean stared down at their hands, mind blank.

 

“I know that something is wrong, Dean, you’re evidently very—”

 

It was as if the sudden touch prompted Dean to make reality of the thought he had been struggling to keep away the last forty or so minutes: _What if we kissed right now?_ Before he had a chance to change his mind and before Cas could finish his sentence, he leaned toward his friend, stopping for a second only to watch Cas’s gaze dart down to Dean’s lips, and kissed him. The former angel tensed for a moment before melting into Dean’s hand against his chest, gripping at the fabric of his tee around his shoulder to pull him closer.

 

“—restless.” Cas breathed when they broke apart. 

 

They looked at each other for a moment, still close enough to easily kiss again. Dean’s eyes widened at the realization of what he had just done, dread building in his chest. Cas’s facial expression was impossible to read. 

 

“Are you panicking right now?” Cas asked hesitantly.

 

“Maybe.”

 

Cas squinted and parted his lips to speak. 

 

“Okay, yes. Yes, I am,” Dean said before Cas could argue.

 

“I see.”

 

“I’m a little bit drunk and I shouldn’t have done that.”

 

“Oh.” 

 

“No, I mean, I shouldn’t have done it right now. Drunk.”

 

“Oh,” Cas repeated, the tone of his voice different than the first time, but still impossible for Dean to figure out.

 

“I mean, maybe I shouldn’t have done it at all,” he rambled on, the panic rising in his chest, too scared to meet Cas’s gaze again, “maybe this was a big mistake and you’re just trying to find the words to let me down easy right now, and I think that if you still could you would’ve just poofed away by now and left me here like an idiot—”

 

Cas’s lips were against his again, and if this wasn’t the most intense chick flick-moment of his life he didn’t know what was, but he wasn’t so scared anymore and thought maybe, just maybe, this hadn’t been such a bad idea after all. They were both intoxicated enough to kiss sloppily, without much of a rhythm and with their noses crashing into one another’s clumsily, but what was most important was that Cas was kissing Dean back. He tasted like toothpaste and beer, a combo Dean could’ve never imagined would be so delicious, so exhilarating. An undignified moan escaped between Cas’s lips before Dean finished their second kiss, and Dean couldn’t help but grin foolishly, the reassuring sound giving him more confidence than any words could.

 

“You sleepy?” Cas asked, the question instantly breaking the spell Dean was under. His heart sank. 

 

“Um...no?” Dean answered, panic returning as if it had never left. 

 

“I know,” Cas answered with a smirk. 

 

Dean furrowed his eyebrows. “Then why—”

 

Cas kissed Dean again, this time while gently pushing him so they could lay down on the couch and Dean attempted to pause the movie with his free hand as soon as he realized where this was going, aiming the remote in what he hoped was the general direction of the TV, the other cupping Cas’s stubbled jaw. The screen went dark, as did the room, and Cas was already grinding against him so Dean decided that this hadn’t been a bad idea at all—not even a little bit. He pulled Cas tightly against him. 

 

“Because this might take a while,” Cas answered and Dean grinned into another kiss with his angel.


End file.
